


You're The Only Hope For Me - Frerard Valentine's Day

by romanticizingchemicals



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Cute, Fluffy, Frerard, Gay, M/M, MCR, My Chem, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, Valentines, frank iero - Freeform, gerard way - Freeform, just really adorable, mention of self harm, my chemical romance - Freeform, my frerard romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:56:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5989626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticizingchemicals/pseuds/romanticizingchemicals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>•I thought that even if I'm single and have a date with outdated songs and bands and MCR videos, I'd still write some smutty Frerard Valentine's Day stuff!•</p><p>Gerard can't be romantic to save his life. He's hopeless and dreads the coming of Valentine's Day. However, his boyfriend, Frank, is quite the charmer, and often leaves Gee baffled at how amazing his Valentines antics are. </p><p>This Valentine's Day, though, Frank has some very special ideas; a few new tricks up his sleeves.</p><p>xoromanticizingchemicals</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hopeless Hearts

"Roses are red, violets are blue, I can't do poems, but I can do you."

 

I try the words over and over again, altering them with each repetition until finally giving up, throwing my head against the wall in frustration. The noise echoes through the room, and Mikey glances up carelessly. "What's wrong?" he asks, though he's obviously far less than interested in anything that's going on in my head.

 

"It's Frank," I reply moodily, biting the end of my pencil in concentration, "I can't figure out how to write a fucking poem. I swear, the gods of Valentine's Day are out to get me!" As expected, Mikey peers over the rim of his glasses at me, and then returns to his book, not offering much except for a small and uninterested, "That's nice."

 

I grunt angrily and pound my fist against my temple softly, racking my brain for some kind of play on words. I'm not a very romantic guy, unlike my boyfriend, who, at times, seems like one of those people always coming up with the cutest, most creative ways to make someone feel loved. But that's just Frank; he likes to make people feel special. I wish dearly that I could return the favor, but I'm hopeless. A lost cause. 

 

"Roses are red, violets are nay, I'm very glad that you are gay," I try irritably, and then I let an annoyed scream escape my mouth. At this, Mikey looks up at me angrily and stands up, leaving the room without another word. I finally give up at the poems and attempts at cute and cheesy romantic antics and step off of my bed, deciding to go to the store instead. Perhaps I'd be inspired by all of the overpriced and cheaply-made Valentine's Day merchandise. 

 

With this goal in mind, I tell Donna that I'm going out, and she nods emotionlessly, not daring to let her eyes wander from whatever program on the television that she's focusing on. Kissing her briefly on top of the head, I pick up my hoodie from the back of the couch and make sure my keys are in my pocket. I open the door and step into the cold, piercing air, shivering at the contact. I hurriedly pull the hoodie over my head, rushing to the old, broken-down car in the driveway. Upon unlocking it, I throw myself into the driver's seat and slam the door behind me, drawing an exhausted breath.

 

I start the engine and pull the gear into reverse, glancing backwards as I pull out of the driveway. Shifting back into drive, I head down the street, which is sketchy-looking as usual. Then again, what can you expect in Belleville? The radio blares some random music that I'm unfamiliar with, but I'm too lazy to change it. I drive down the streets, turning every now and again until I make it to the local Walmart. Yes, I feel cheap. Yes, I feel absolutely awful, but I'm just here for flowers and a box of chocolates. 

 

How much cornier does it get?

 

I pull into a parking spot and take a deep breath before exiting the "warm" vehicle, making a mad dash for the overly-busy store. It's February 14, so I'm not sure what else I had expected. It's not that I forgot about Valentine's Day; oh, no, far from it. The fact remains that I still have no romantic flare, and I was unable to carry through with any of my original plans and attempts and romanticism. I'm no Romeo.

 

I step through the doors of Walmart and blow warm air into my palms, glancing around for a basket. I spot a stack of them by the cart wipes, retrieving one and attempting to find the floral section. I spot a small portion of the store dedicated to Valentines' gifts, but forbid myself from even going near the area. I refuse to be the most basic, cliché boyfriend, so I desperately search for the normal flower section. 

 

Unfortunately, they've incorporated it into the Valentine's Day section. My stomach lurches in defeat, and I shamefully trudge to the candy section. If they don't have Skittles, then I'm fucked for sure.

 

And, for the norm, Walmart disappoints.

 

There's not a single package of Skittles in sight, which is extremely odd. Why they'd be out of a sweet that isn't even a Valentine gift or candy, I have no idea. I'm tired, frustrated, and defeated. I could always pick my way through the store and probably find something along the lines of what I'm looking for, but I'm already so upset with myself that I give up. 

 

What kind of boyfriend fucks up Valentine's Day and still can't find a decent gift?

 

In my pocket, my phone buzzes, and I take it out and read a new text message from Frank:

 

_Hey baby! Be at my place in about 30 minutes, okay? Love you lots, and I can't wait to see you! xofrnk_

 

Though I can tell who the text is from because of the contact name, Frank still insists on adding "xofrnk" to every single text he sends. I bite my tongue decidingly, and nod, texting back:

 

_Okay, I'll be there. Miss you!_

 

What exactly Frank has in mind, I'm unsure of. We've been together for over a year now, and last Valentine's Day, he took me to see David Bowie in concert, which followed a long, exciting day at the Comic Con. We finished off at the coffee shop where we had met, and that was the best day ever. Actually, any day I spend with Frank is the best day ever. 

 

I slide my phone back into my pocket and bite my lip thoughtfully, hoping that maybe I'll come up with something quickly. Looking around from where I'm standing, I see a surplus of Valentine's Day goodies, but none of them are special enough. They don't scream Frank...

 

"Can I help you, sir?" I feel a tap on my shoulder and as masculine voice asks me this question, and I turn around. He flinches slightly, but I'm so glad to see him here. "Thank God, Ray," I say breathlessly, embracing my good friend. Ray and I have known each other for many years, and we hang out all the time. However, I had forgotten that he works at Walmart, but I'm grateful that he does. Maybe he can help with this. After all, he has maintained a meaningful, intimate relationship with his girlfriend, Christa, for as long as I can remember.

 

He smiles and pushes his curly, wild hair out of his face, only to have it fall back in front of one of his eyes. "Hey, Gee," he replies, equally glad to see me, "I've missed you. I've just been so busy with everything. My friend Matt and I have talked about starting a small band, I've been juggling a few jobs... It's chaos. And now, Valentine's Day." I grin widely and nod understandingly. "I get what you mean. But hey, you think you could help me out?" I ask, more like plead. 

 

Ray crosses his arms and leans on his other leg, thoughtfully running a hand through his hair. Sometimes I wander if he's cheating on Christa with that fro, because he's constantly touching it. I've even caught him talking to his hair on the more disturbing days. It's very weird, and slightly manic.

 

"Of course. I mean, if it's about hiding a dead body, I can't help you, but let's hear what you need help with before I answer that," he responds, laughing at his own joke. I imagine his fro suddenly growing a hand and maybe high-fiving him for the humorous remark, but I shake away the thought and smile sincerely. "It's not a dead body... This time," I tease lightly, "No. Umm, it's Valentine's Day, yeah, and I can't decide what to get Frank. I tried to come up with plans! I really did! And now I have not even thirty minutes to get him something!"

 

I suddenly realize my time limit, and a sort of panic builds in my chest. This isn't the first time that I've fucked up in this relationship, either. I'm always trying to throw something together last minute, whether it be Frank's birthday or our anniversary or something else like that. 

 

Ray scratches his neck and ponders upon my predicament. I've told him about Frank, and he's really into our relationship. Though I haven't talked to Ray for quite a few weeks, he still knows the in's and out's of my relationship with Frank. "Hmm," he muses quietly, "Not sure. Let's see... Frank is a hopeless romantic, his birthday is on Halloween, he loves Skittles, and most of all, he loves you. I would say to get him some Skittles and maybe some of those Halloween M&M's, but we're out of both of those. Some party planning committee member from the elementary school came and wiped out our supply of Skittles."

 

I groan sadly, bringing my hands to my face tiredly. I can't do this. I can't face Frank without a gift. I can't. "Hey, it's okay. Maybe try the Valentine's section–" Ray starts soothingly, placing a hand on my shoulder, but I jerk my arm so that his hand falls and cut him off. "No!" I cry profoundly, "There's no way that I'm going to get him cheesy shit from the couples' corner! That's the most inconsiderate, cheap thing that I could possibly do."

 

Ray contorts his face into a wounded expression, and I sigh apologetically. "Look, I'm sorry," I admit, "I'm just exhausted. I've spent all day trying to throw something together, and I've been planning this, but nothing is working out. Everything is falling apart, and I don't have any time. It's tearing me apart."

 

I run a hand through my hair and then put my hands in my pockets, saying with a tone of defeat, "I better get going. I'll just buy him a bouquet of flowers, and then I'll get his favorite board game. If they have it here."

 

Ray smiles understandingly, waving a little bit. "'Kay. I'll see you around. Good luck, Gee!" he calls after me as I walk away, towards the row of shitty refrigerated flowers. And when I say shitty, I mean it. There aren't even any good flowers left; they've all been purchased by people who have their lives together. 

 

I grimace as I scorn the lot of pitiful, wilting flowers, and finally decide to just pick some of the flowers by the park near Frank's house. That gives me some sort of inspiration, because we'll walk through that park and talk all the time. We always have picnics there, and just sit and read and draw sometimes. It's a pretty comforting, serene place, so maybe that'll have some significance. 

 

The store is beginning to fill up with frantic men, all of which are heading for the Valentine's Day section with a sense of serious urgency, as though their life depends on getting something from over there. Which, in a sense, their life does depend on it. I've heard that a lot of women can be extremely pissed when their significant other forgets a holiday like this one. I mean, I'd be mad as hell too. 

 

I walk towards the aisles that contain children toys and board games, hoping to possibly find an older game like Magic or D&D. Unfortunately, Walmart doesn't carry those games, so I settle for Pictionary. Though Frank is an awful artist, we'll still have fun with the game. Besides, he practically owns every single board game out there, and we've played every single one that he possesses, none of which are Pictionary. I head back up to the front of the store, towards the check-out counters.

 

The lines are hectic, full of desperate people trying to hurry up and get home. The aroma of dying, bittersweet flowers is very pungent, and it fills my lungs unpleasantly. I do my best to hold my breath, trying not to breathe in the sickly sweet scent. It's awful.

 

When it's finally my turn, I bend down to retrieve two of those cold coffee things from the small refrigerators, and I place them on the counter, along with the board game. The cashier looks at me skeptically, and I bite my lip nervously. Silently judging me, she asks, "Will that be all?" 

 

I almost nod, but then shake my head upon remembering Frank's favorite brand of cigarettes. Though smoking is incredibly unhealthy and potentially life-threatening, both Frank and I do it. We take long drags on cold nights, watching the stars and talking about how we would be able to build a rocketship one day and fly to another planet in case of a zombie apocalypse. We talk about some weird shit. 

 

I point to one of the packages of cigarettes on the shelf behind the cashier, and she picks it off of the shelf and holds it up. "This one?" she asks, and I nod. She swipes it across the counter and types something onto the screen of the computer. "I need your driver's license," the cashier says pressingly, and I dig in my pocket for the small card, my heart leaping when my fingers brush it. For a few fleeting moments, I had thought that maybe I had forgotten it. 

 

Handing the the lady my card, she looks at it, hands it back, and types more onto the computer. "Anyone special this Valentine's Day?" she asks, though uninterested. She reminds me of Mikey, which is a scary thought. "Mhmm," I respond quietly, because I don't really like talking to people that I'm not well acquaintenced with. "Who's the lucky lady?" she continues dryly, not really meaning anything that she's saying. 

 

My stomach takes a plunge and I swallow hard, fiddling with the ring on my finger. "His name is Frank," I admit in a small voice, and she nods, a scowl on her face. "That's weird, but okay," the cashier replies, and then adds, "That'll be twenty dollars."

 

Something inside of me sort of snaps, like a taut string that has been pulled too far. " _Weird_ _?_ " I ask, taking great offense to her opinion. She pulls her mouth into a line and holds up a hand, palm-up, and says, "Well, yeah. My mom and dad raised me right. It's wrong." 

 

I can feel my face redden with anger, and I lose all sense of self-control and the fact that I'm in public, a line of customers building up behind me. "Oh, I'm sorry. Yes, excuse my sin. Because, you know, you don't sin at all. You're a sinless, perfect little angel, my bad, I forgot. You know what, my sexuality doesn't concern you, and I don't even know why I'm wasting my time on this. Frank is better than anyone that'll ever love you, if you find someone desperate enough," I spit bitterly, shoving a twenty dollar bill at her.

 

Her eyes widen, her eyebrows knits together. "I have a boyfriend, and he's better than yours," she responds angrily, placing the bill into the cash register. I bite my tongue so hard that I taste the metallic tinge of blood gathering on the area, but I don't care. As long as I don't get carried away with the insults I'm trying to avoid spewing. As the cashier tosses me my bag, I lean in closer and whisper, "I have better sex than you do, so suck on that. Oh wait... That'd be gay, my bad."

 

I don't wait for a response, as I'm already bounding for the doors of Walmart. I look at my watch and notice with a start that I only have ten minutes to get the flowers and then drive over to Frank's house.

 

Sometimes, but not on a normal basis, I'll lose my shit on people. Especially on judgemental bastards who can't keep their opinions to themselves. I can't really blame them, though; I believe myself to be an atrocity at times, even if I'm extremely happy with my relationship. It's just not natural, and I understand where a lot of the judgement is coming from...

 

I open my car door and slide into the seat, starting up the car and tossing my bag of purchased goods into the passenger seat. I'm so used to having Frank sit there that I almost do a double-take, thinking that the bag will hit him, but he's not there. There's no comforting hand rubbing small, reassuring circles on my thighs. There's no senseless rambling or telling crazy stories either. No one's there to tell me that no one knows how to drive, or that I'm the only person with any sense in this blasted town. No one can tell me that I look so cute with my tongue between my teeth, concentrating on the road and ignoring the intriguing placement of a certain passenger's hand. 

 

And I miss that. A lot. 

 

The last time I saw Frank was yesterday morning, when I had woken up at his house around nine. We were once again cuddling on his couch and watching stupid shows, and I had woken to the snapping of a camera and a verbal "Aw!" Linda does that a lot, and I get used to it. She probably keeps an album to scrapbook of some sort full of pictures she's taken of me and Frank doing random shit. 

 

In fact, she's more invested in our relationship than Ray is, and that's saying something.

 

I screech to a stop at a traffic light, my fingers tapping irritably against the cold leather of the steering wheel. I have seven minutes now, and I try to remember where the flower bushes at the park are. When the light turns green, I take a right turn towards the town's park, which is small, dying, and modest. 

 

Against the white of sudden snow and the endless blue of the winter sky, I make out a few bushes by a large tree, and I drive the car towards the area. Parking it hastily on the sidewalk, I leap out of the car and rush to the flowers, my heart dropping at the sight of them. For starters, they're covered in freshly fallen snow, glistening and nearly frozen. Also, the leaves are brown and incredibly unattractive, and I resist the urge to cry and have an emotional breakdown.

 

Exactly how can this Valentine's Day get any worse?

 

As if on que, I hear another car pull up behind me, and I turn around to make sure that I'm not about to be jumped or something. But no. With a dreading realization, I make out the colors of a patrol car, and I register the policeman that's stepping out of it. His eyes shoot from me to the car, and I nearly cry out as I remember that I had pulled up onto the sidewalk. In a no parking zone. Where I can get towed or fined. 

 

"This is your vehicle, correct?" the cop asks moodily. I take it that his Valentine's Day isn't going all that well, so that's something we have in common. Tears begin to gather at the corners of my eyes, and I chew on my lip to prevent any cries from escaping. I nod slowly, scratching my neck and staring at my feet. He purses his lips and analyzes the parking of the car, approaching me. Though he's holding no weapons, I still back up a couple steps nervously; he's a cop, and he's menacing to me.

 

The policeman pulls out a handheld machine that looks like some kind of weapon or something, and I scramble away from him until my back hits the thorny, vine-covered bush. I cry out in pain as a thorn buries itself into my neck, but as I try to step out of the bush, my leg gets caught in a vine, and I trip and fall to the cop's feet.

 

He looks down at me unapprovingly, and then squats down besides my face. "I need your license," he explains, gesturing to the machine. Oh. So it's not a taser or a laser. 

 

Given my current position, I'm not sure how he expects me to reach my pockets, but he's a policeman, so I don't argue. Struggling immensely, I grunt and bend over while laying down to reach my pocket, pulling the card out of it. The cop grabs it from my hand and swipes it over the machine, which beeps and clicks a few times.

 

"Gerard Way," the cop says, and I have to strain my neck to actually look up at him. He's reading the screen of the handheld device, which I guess is probably giving him all of my information. Name, birthday, age, and any criminal record. He nods and draws his lip into a thin line. "So, you've got a clean record. Unfortunately, you've parked your car in a No Parking Zone. Care to explain, or do you just want to take the ticket?" he muses, and then looks from the screen to my shaking figure on the ground.

 

I try to stop tears from trickling down my face, and though I stop a few of them, they don't fall without being noticed by the police. "I'm so sorry," I choke thickly, shaking my head and wiping the tears away ferociously, "I went to Walmart, tried to get a nice gift for my boyfriend, and when all they had were dead flowers, I figured that I'd come here and pick a few. Then it started to snow, and I'm late to meet him right now and I'm a terrible boyfriend and–"

 

I can't bring myself to say any more, and to fill the silent void, I begin to sob hysterically, the snow stinging my neck and exposed skin. The policeman obviously feels terrible, because he doesn't say anything else. Instead, he waits for me to collect myself, but I can't help but notice that everything has gone wrong today.

 

Everything. 

 

"Look, kid," the cop says softly, scratching his neck, "I'll let you off with a warning, but when there's a No Parking sign, then don't park there. Good luck with your–er–boyfriend." Blubbering and sobbing, I thank him over and over again, relieved that at least I don't have to worry about a fine that I can't pay. He hands me back my license and stands up, walking back to his car and driving away upon getting in. I draw a few more shaky breaths, hiccuping a couple of times, and then work at the vines tangling themselves around my feet. 

 

Once I'm free, I stand up and rub my neck painfully. I trace a thin scratch from the nape of my neck to a few inches down my spine, dried blood caking the area thinly. I carefully pick some wet, frozen flowers from the bush, and then return to my car, late as usual. I've managed to ruin yet another special day.

 

And I really hope that Frank has a thing for dead, frozen flowers, a cold mocha, some cigarettes, and a few games of Pictionary.


	2. Give Me A Reason To Believe

I arrive at the door of the house of the Iero family about ten minutes later than Frank had asked me to come over. Hesitantly, I straighten my hoodie and run a quick hand through my hair, pulling up my pants a bit and taking a deep breath.

 

Honestly, this feels more like a guy picking up his date to the prom or something than arriving at the house of my longtime boyfriend. That is, if you consider a year and some a long time.

 

I bite my bottom lip uncertainly as I knock on the door, and it immediately opens to reveal a distraught-looking Frank. "Dear God," he cries, throwing himself at me and curling his arms around my neck. Startled, it takes me a few moments to comprehend what's actually going on, but when I do, I wrap my own arms around his waist, pulling him closer. He nuzzles into my chest, his breath warm against the cold fabric of my hoodie and shirt. I hear the clicking of a camera, and an "Aw!" that I'm all too familiar with. But I still don't break the embrace until Frank shoves me away, suddenly angry.

 

He punches me roughly, and when I say punch, I mean punch. Frank throws all he has into the jab, beating up my chest and causing me to lose my breath at times. "Ow! Fuck, Frank, what–? Ah!" I gasp, but he doesn't relent. Through gritted teeth, he spits, "Why didn't you answer my texts? You're ten minutes late, no explanation, there's blood on your neck, and you look awful! Cute, of course, but tired as fuck. And the worst part? No–fucking–texts!" 

 

My chest is a mess of guilt and pain, and Frank finally stops attacking me to catch his breath. Linda shakes her head and chuckles, shaking a piece of film that had just come out of her old camera. "Oh, you two are just too cute! I'm going out with some friends, okay, huns? There's tons of food in the fridge and pantries, but I'm not sure if you guys want to go out to eat or what. If so, there are two twenty dollar bills in the breadbox. Love you guys!" she says before slipping on a pair of heels and a blood-red cardigan, grabbing her keys and setting down the developing picture on the counter. 

 

She kisses each of us on the cheek, and then slips past us out the door. Frank rubs at the spot where she had kissed him and closes the door softly behind her, the cold air diminishing and the warmth and familiarity of the Iero home inviting and comforting after a fucked up day. 

 

"You have no idea how worried I was!" Frank scolds, though the initial anger that was in his voice is no longer there. I curl my lips into my mouth and look at Frank innocently, and he crosses his arms again. "Don't look at me like that. You're the opposite of innocent, you little time whore. You're a slut to time, you know that? You're life's slut. No one leaves this world a virgin; life fucks everyone. And you know that," he adds sternly, but gives up at the whole act. 

 

"Fuck it. I love you so much, and happy Valentine's Day," he breaks, and pulls me in for a warm embrace. I kiss the top of his head, his hair cool against my lips. He even washed his hair for the occasion, which is actually very surprising. I bring a hand up to his hair and start running my fingers through the strands, twisting and pulling lightly. He sighs into my chest and leans his head back.

 

I bend down to kiss him, my lips ghosting his, and I pull away, walking to his kitchen. I suddenly remember the flowers and the shit I had gotten at Walmart, so I hand Frank the dead plants and set the bag down on the counter. He laughs at the pitiful sight of the flowers and sets them aside gingerly, standing beside me and wrapping an arm around my torso. "What've you got here?" he asks quietly, leaning his head against my side. I take out the drinks and the board game, and his eyes light up like they do when he's happy.

 

I live for that light. For that smile. 

 

"You're the best," he whispers appreciatively, kissing my neck and then opening his drink. I copy his actions, taking a long sip from the bitter and basic coffee. It's not the best, but it's coffee. And coffee is coffee.

 

Frank trails his hand down into my own, intertwining our fingers and leading me to the living room, where we sit down on the armchair. Though it's the smallest chair in the room, we sit there on purpose. We love the absence of the concept of personal space, and it's warmer that way. There's literally no such thing as space or room in our relationship; we're both equally clingy, always feeling the need to maintain some form of physical contact.

 

"If I could do anything for Valentine's Day," Frank says softly, examining my hand and running his gentle fingers along mine, "I'd sit here with you and talk. We'd do whatever we want, and we'd have all day to do it. There wouldn't be any interruptions, and there wouldn't be any space in between us. We'd cuddle and we'd do shit." My lips can't help but to curl into an amused smile, and I turn my head slightly to connect my lips to Frank's. 

 

Like all of our kisses, this one is delicate and genuine, unlike those rough, arrogant public make-out session type kisses you see amongst most teens. We're just not as horny as some kids, and I think that there's this kind of mutual respect for each others' bodies that we don't mention too often. We've never "done the do", if you will. 

 

By that, I mean to say that we never force each other into anything, and that never goes unnoticed. When we were first dating, I was very self-conscious. I felt extremely large at times, though I was sized like a normal human being. It was probably just the ghost of my past that had come to jeer and mock me, but I was an extremely depressed, unconfident person. So, naturally, I was very uncertain about things like kissing or naked cuddling or showering together.

 

But Frank had respected that. He never forced me to do anything that I didn't want to, and that what we've built this relationship on, I think. All of this is coming from someone whom has a negative million in the charm and romance department.

 

"I'd like that. What do you want to do then? Why'd you invited me over?" I ask casually. He smirks sheepishly and nuzzles my hand lovingly. "Just to hang. But I have a plan. It'll be cute, especially since you're involved," he whispers sweetly, and I smile at his romantic attempts. 

 

Frank always knows how to make me feel loved and happy, which is why I love him. "I love you so much," I mutter, nuzzling my nose into his hair and inhaling his scent. It's addictive. "I love you too. But we should probably start our plans..." Frank whispers, shifting so that he's against my chest and leaning on my thigh. I caress his hair as he leans over for the remote, turning on the television. 

 

There's already a disc in the DVD player, so it automatically goes to play screen. The movie we're watching just happens to be...

 

"The Labyrinth?" I ask, my heart leaping. The Labyrinth is the first movie that Frank and I had ever gone to the movie theater to see together, and it's definitely one of my favorites. I love David Bowie. Frank nods and laces our fingers together, tracing small, invisible patterns onto the back of it. "Mhmm. It's the first movie we saw together. Ever. Even as friends. The very first, and it means a lot to me," he replies, kissing my hand carefully.

 

I smile and kiss the top of his head, resting my cheek on his hair. "What did I do to deserve such an amazing boyfriend?" I whisper quietly, closing my eyes. Frank kisses my chin, as he can't really reach much higher. 

 

"So we'll watch this until we get bored, and then we'll do the rest of the shit I planned. Oh, and you're staying here tonight, so text Donna," Frank says eagerly, and he presses the play button on the remote. I raise my eyebrows, though I'm not surprised. 

 

Frank is always announcing last minute sleepovers. In fact, I've started staying up later at my own house just in case he decides to make a midnight call to have me over. I practically live at his house, and though we spend a lot of time at my house, we've decided that Frank's house is better. For one, Mikey isn't there. 

 

Don't get me wrong, I love Mikes, but he doesn't get my love life. Even though he's supportive of my sexuality and most of my life choices, I feel like he's still unsure about the whole thing. 

 

I pull my phone out of my pocket, the task proving to be an unexpected struggle. Frank is practically laying on me, so getting the phone is way harder than it should be. Upon finally removing it from my pocket, I unlock it and open my messages. Of course, there aren't any new texts; I have no friends.

 

Okay, so maybe I have a few, but we don't text on a regular basis. For example, Ray and I aren't constantly talking to each other, but I still consider him one of my closest friends.

 

I open up the messages between Donna and I, my fingers hovering above the keys uncertainly. 

 

_Hey Ma. You're probably busy, but I hope your Valentine's Day is just as amazing as you are. I love you, and I'm going to stay at Frank's. Love you again!_

 

Since I stay at Frank's so often, we had decided that we should move some of my stuff to his house. So, I have a few shirts and clothes that I keep in his drawers, though I usually end up wearing one of his oversized t-shirts. They're huge on him, and they're just a size or two larger on me. My toothbrush is also in Frank's bathroom, and there's a hook in the shower dedicated to my frequently used washcloth. I'm always taking showers, but I rarely wash my hair. Of course I washed my hair this morning, but I usually don't. Today's special.

 

Frank points to a large, dark red blanket that's thrown across the back of the long couch. I reach for it, though my arms are barely long enough to retrieve it, and I lay it across us. "Are you hungry yet?" Frank asks as the movie starts, and I chuckle. "The movie hasn't even started," I reply softly, stroking his hair. 

 

"Me either. Good. Did you text your mom?" he says, and I nod. "Yep," I mumble, picking a random piece of fuzz out of Frank's hair, "As usual, she won't mind. I don't think that she's ever actually said no to me staying over here."

 

Our conversation carries on aimlessly, broken only by the occasional kiss or cuddle, and before we know it, the movie is over, the credits rolling unexpectedly. "Well," Frank says, a surprised look crossing his face, "That was quick. Part two of the Valentine's Day plan!"

 

He pulls himself up, dragging the blanket with him as he makes his way into the kitchen. I hear him knocking about in there, though I'm not concerned in the slightest; he's clumsy, and so am I, so I'd just make it worse. With the closing of a drawer, Frank calls out, "Close your eyes!" 

 

I roll my eyes but cover them with my hands, not bothering to try and peek. I hear Frank's footsteps approach me, and he sets something cold on my lap. "Open!"

 

Looking down, I lay my eyes on a cake that is all too familiar.

 

When I was fourteen, I had spent my birthday in the hospital, because I had had some type of asthmatic attack in the middle of the night, and my mother and Mikey had rushed me to the emergency room. Not only did I have to ruin a completely peaceful sleep, but also a birthday eve. And as if to worsen that, they decided that my tonsils were too large to keep in my throat, so they had removed those.  

 

But when Donna and Mikey had left, the only other person to come and visit was Frank. His mother had also come, because he was only ten at the time, and he couldn't drive or walk to the hospital completely unattended. 

 

Along with a smile and a lengthy, positive message, Frank had brought a birthday and get well cake. We had taken a lot of pictures, and I remember feeling immediately better. I often talk to Frank about how much him visiting me had meant, and how kind and considerate the cake was. He had made it himself, after all, and though it was dry and lopsided, I had loved it.

 

And now, before me, I see an almost exact replica of the memory. "I know you remember when you had to get your tonsils taken out on your birthday, and we couldn't eat the cake until a few days after I brought it," Frank recalls, smiling widely, "That was hilarious. Anyways, I decided that that moment was definitely one of my favorites of our time together, even if we weren't dating."

 

I smile and hug Frank tightly, wondering how the fuck he can come up with such creative and memorable gifts. 


	3. Hopeless Romantic

I shove another forkful of cake into my mouth, savoring the reason behind it more so than the actual cake itself. It's sacred, almost. 

 

"I can't eat anymore," Frank complains shrilly, shoving away the cake. I shrug and set down my fork, leaning back and sighing with content. If I died right now, it'd be safe to say that I had died the happiest guy in the world. "It was much better than the first one," I admit honestly, and Frank giggles.

 

I love his laugh so much.

 

He takes the unfinished cake back to the kitchen, saying, "Linda can eat the rest." He then shuffles around the kitchen for a few more moments and then returns to the living room. "I think we'd better get going on the last part of my thing. Well, part one of the last part," Frank suggests, and I nod eagerly. I glance outside, noticing the fading, fleeting rays of light as they diminish with the sun. 

 

"What did you plan?" I ask curiously, and he sticks his tongue out at me. "You'll see, Mr. Impatient Pants," he replies childishly, pulling me to my feet. 

 

I stretch and hug Frank around his waist, kissing his neck softly. "You know that you didn't have to make plans," I whisper earnestly, and he nods. 

 

"Yeah, I know."

 

With that, he shoves his hands into my pockets, pulling out my car keys. "Let's go," he says excitedly, and we walk to the door. Frank slips his feet into a pair of beat-up black Converse, not bothering to tie them back up. "I'm driving, obviously. But you can't look. Sounds cliche and shit, but I want it to be a surprise," he adds as he opens the door, the air freezing and dreadfully cold. I suddenly don't want to leave, but I force myself to go along with whatever Frank has planned.

 

For Frank.

 

***

 

"You can look now," Frank squeals, hardly able to contain his excitement. I remove my hands from my eyes and look out the windshield at a small building, which is lit up by tiny, Christmas-like lights. Once again, Frank is choosing these places for a reason.

 

When we had first started dating, the first dinner date we went on was to a cheap, shitty Mexican food place. Hesitantly, we had gotten just a burrito each, and afterwards, we were both sick for a few days. It got so bad that we would basically be on a bathroom rotation almost, puking and leaving while the other one had rushed in to puke, and the cycle had continued over the time span of maybe three days. 

 

And of course, that's where Frank decides to take me. 

 

"Okay, umm," I start cautiously, not wanting to hurt his feelings or anything, "So last time we came here, we both got sick and vomited for days. I don't know about you, but I don't feel like spending all night puking." Frank throws his head back and chuckles quietly, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Gotcha," he teases, pulling out a lighter. 

 

My stomach drops as I recognize the object with a deep, burning hatred in the out of my stomach. When I had been in high school, I was definitely not the skinniest kid. In fact, I was fat. Very fat. And very depressed. I got into a phase of burning myself with a lighter, simply because I felt disgusted and ashamed and just so upset. 

 

There was this one night when I was having a sleepover at a friend's house, and Frank was there, along with some of my other friends from school. For some reason, a fight had broken out between me and one of the guys, and it had gotten to a point where he began to insult me, and he had started calling me stupid names like "Piggy" and "Fatty". 

 

The other boys even laughed along, but Frank didn't. He had scolded the boys angrily, and then rushed after me as I made a bolt for the bathroom. For some reason, my lighter was in my pocket, and I had the sudden urge to just annihilate myself. I wanted to be consumed in tiny flames. Striking the lighter, I began to slash at my arms, bawling and just destroying myself.

 

One second, I was burning myself and losing all sense of self-control, and the next, Frank was picking the lock and snatching the lighter from my hand, holding me and crying and all that shit. 

 

So imagine my horror as Frank pulls out my old friend. I feel tears gather at the corners of my eyes, and I wish them away angrily. I can't fall apart over an inanimate object. 

 

"You... You said that you threw it away," I choke, trying to conceal my struggle to maintain composure. Frank glances at me, a pained expression ghosting his face. "I did say that. But I didn't. I kept it as a reminder that I couldn't leave you alone for long periods of time," he admits sadly, "But I think it's time we get rid of it. For real."

 

I tilt my head sideways in confusion, and he gestures for me to get out of the car. I do so, following him around the back of the restaurant. We stop by one of the trash cans, and Frank tosses the lighter to the concrete. I stare at the lighter, not actually missing the pain and feeling that it had once created. "Step on it. Stomp the shit out of that crap," Frank says softly, and I do. 

 

How this has anything to do with Valentine's Day, I'm not sure, but I destroy the lighter viscously. I stomp on it until it's nothing but a scattered mess of gears and plastic, and I pant from the exhaustion and hate that had been building up inside of me. Frank smiles and bends down to gather the pieces, tossing them into the trash can. "This is where shit belongs," he explains, wiping his hands on his jeans, "Shitty burritos and poisonous Mexican food belongs with lighters used against their intended purpose. I just wanted to destroy it because it destroyed you for the longest time. I can't stand seeing you so broken. So utterly vulnerable and willing to do anything for a feeling other than nothing."

 

I choke on a gleeful sob and pull Frank in for a thankful embrace, trembling because of my surge of emotions and the freezing temperatures of the outdoors. I really needed that, and the fact that Frank would actually take me to the craptastic restaurant just to destroy a lighter is the whole reason why I love him.

 

And I want to love him forever.

 

***

 

"This is the last place we're gonna go, because it's getting late and I'm getting tired. So surprise!" Frank rushes, taking his hands off of my eyes. I look up at the softly-lit display windows of a store that I don't immediately recognize, because I don't come here at night.

 

It just so happens that Frank and I are standing outside of my favorite bookstore and coffee shop, which is locally owned and operated. It's no Barnes and Noble, but I still love it. It's small and cozy, and Frank and I used to come here all the time to study. Now, we go in to talk or to unwind.

 

"I fucking love this place," I say excitedly, in the mood for another cup of coffee. I mean, I'm always in the mood, but I really just want a good cup of caffeine. Frank smiles and kisses my cheek, opening the door for me. I leap into the store and sigh as the warm, comforting environment envelops me. It's not as consoling and familiar as Frank's home, but compared to the harshness and coldness of the weather outside, this is a fucking sauna.

 

The very tired, drowsy cashier sits propped on his elbow behind the counter, and he jumps at the sound of the bell above the door. "Oh, hello. It's a bit late to be out... Especially on Valentine's Day," he muses, barely maintaining consciousness. Frank and I convey apologetic smiles and walk towards the back corner, where there's a small record player and a shelf of vinyls. No music is playing right now, but Frank, I notice, is carrying a satchel.

 

When the fuck did he get that?

 

From the bag, he withdraws a small, black sleeve, and I know that it contains a record. I bite the inside of my cheek as he turns around and places the record on the table, moving the needle and placing it somewhere on the vinyl. 

 

Though the music starts out at a raspy, grainy pace, I'm able to identify the song as soon as the first note begins to play. 

 

"Let Me Be Alone," I whisper, my mouth curling into an uncontrollable smile. I don't recall our ages, but a while back, when the relationship was growing into a more intimate thing, we were at a store, and the song has come on. I remember telling Frank how much I loved The Carpenters, and he suggested that we should dance to it. Of course I couldn't turn him down, so right in the middle of the store, we had stopped everything that we were doing to slowly dance down the produce aisle. And in that moment, the Veggie Tales theme song suddenly had some purpose. 

 

And as we finished dancing, Frank had kissed me for the first time. And I can never forget that. You normally never forget your first kiss with someone, but this was different. So much more than just a random, friendly peck. It was everything.

 

Frank runs a hand through his hair and holds out his other hand. "Shall we dance, then?" And we do. We dance along to the song, the cashier watching carefully in the background. He's smirking ever so slightly, which makes me laugh. 

 

We're all basically gleeful, smiling messes by the end of the song, and the next song starts. But Frank is swaying with exhaustion as he tries to stay on his feet, so I remove the needle from the record and place it back into its cover, slipping it back into the satchel and grabbing Frank's hand. I'm not tired, but even though I want coffee, I decide not to get any. I have the feeling that I'm in for a long night of cuddling and movies and shit.

 

"Let's go home," I suggest, and Frank nods, stifling a nod. We make it out the door after thanking the cashier, and then to the car. 

 

I open the door on the passenger's side for Frank, and he slides in tiredly. I close the door softly and take my own side, starting the car and pulling out of the small parking space.

 

We drive home in a comfortable, exhausted silence. We hadn't even done much, but I'm still tired. I'm grateful for everything that Frank has done for me today. He's just amazing.

 

 


	4. The Best Kind of Cheesy

Frank leans his head into my side, sighing deeply. We've decided on sleeping in his bed, snacking on some Oreos and honey buns that we had found in the pantry. When we had come back, Linda was here waiting, a camera at the ready.

 

I watch the television screen, though I don't register anything that's happening. "You know," Frank mumbles quietly, "I love you so much. I love that we can talk. I love that we can love each other like this. I love you." I grin and lean down to kiss Frank, my lips meeting his gently.

 

We don't pull away until a small knock at the door startles us apart. "Come in," Frank calls, and Linda steps in, holding something behind her back. 

 

"Hey, Ma," Frank and I greet in unison, and Linda erupts into giggles. "Oh, you two are too cute. But, I just wanted to wish you a lovely Valentine's Day, and I made a little something for you two..."

 

With that, she approaches the bed and sets a heavy book in my lap, and with a wide smile, I recognize it as a scrapbook. On the front, it says "Frank and Gee Through The Years". Frank purses his lips and coos, "Aww."

 

I hug Frank's mother around her hips, and she hugs me as well. "Thank you so much," I whisper, and she pets my hair lovingly. "Oh, you're welcome, dear. I hope you like it."

 

Frank and I spend heaven knows how long flipping through the book, commenting on the many random pictures. From a pirate-themed sixth birthday party for Frank to the two of us attempting to build a fort, there are so many photographs. We recall each memory behind each photo with love, and in some cases (particularly one in which Frank is depicted with a pair of underwear on his head but no other clothes on his exposed body) embarrassment. 

 

There are also a few small captions, like dates and ages and names here or there. But I love this. I love it with a passion, and I trace the outlines of the pictures with my finger, delicately.

 

"Hey, Frank," I say quietly, closing the book and setting it aside, settling down into a laying position. Frank follows suit, nuzzling up against my chest. "Hmm?" he asks, to which I reply, "I love you more than I love David Bowie. I love you more than I love horror movies and Magic and Dungeons and Dragons. I love you more than I love drawing, and I love you more than I love myself."

 

It's corny as fuck, but Frank still kisses me gently and smiles.

 

No matter how hard I try, I'll always suck at this romance stuff. But Frank's romanticism is enough for both of us, I'd say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! It's nearly one in the morning here, but I needed to finish this. Love you all!
> 
> xoromanticizingchemicals


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